On Learning to Waltz in the Waves
by Beatrice Acrobat
Summary: A year after the capture of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin is haunted by memories and secrets Fortunately, his new partner is willing to help him learn to let go. SLASH. R


They were coasting down the motorway in a borrowed pink T-bird with the top down, Remus, Aeneas, and a week's provisions, blaring the Velvet Underground and singing along at the top of their lungs. Remus had let his hair out of its usual ponytail and it fluttered behind him like a flag in the wind, tangling and untangling and tangling again as he shook his head to the heavy beat. Aeneas pounded his hand on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the music. He sang along, but having never mastered the art of carrying a tune, his ministrations were mere cacophony added to the roar of the engine. Remus didn't mind, though: Lou Reed never could sing either.

Aeneas was a tall, lanky man who seemed to have to fold himself into chairs and whose not inconsiderable grace was surprising. He towered a few inches above Remus, who had never been dwarfed by any of his friends. Aeneas always attributed his height to genetics; he was a descendant of Angus MacAskill, the Cape Breton giant.

They motored through sunburned hills, past parched fields and trees that were barely able to hold onto their dry, rustling leaves in the August heat, crumbling barns that seemed to melt into the haze and pastures where herds of lethargic cattle grazed on brittle grass. A cloud of dust kicked up behind them and obscured the view of the road, but Aeneas, indifferent, motored on.

When the song ended, Remus popped out the eight-track.

"How much further do you reckon it is?" he asked.

"Dunno, it's your cottage."

"A friend's. Besides, it's your country." They passed a road sign.

"About twenty minutes."

"Mm. Do all Canadians measure distance in terms of hours?"

"You mean to say you don't?"

"Nah. Cubits." With a smirk, he replaced "White Light/White Heat" with another eight track; Peter Murphy's voice filled the car – and half the countryside.

For all his apparent lack of concern, Aeneas's estimation turned out to be nearly perfectly accurate. Not twenty minutes later, on Remus's instruction, he pulled off the main highway onto an unmarked dirt road that led into the thick brush. The T-bird handled relatively well, given that Aeneas had not slowed down much after leaving the highway. In the passenger seat, Remus looked slightly green. They were jostled to the left and to the right as they roared down the too-narrow road swerving to avoid too-big potholes, and barely missing a few feeble saplings that had taken root in the road. Remus held on with both hands and gritted his teeth; he had never been a fan of wheeled transportation. After fifteen minutes, the road came to an abrupt end.

Aeneas pulled to a stop and cut the engine. "Looks like we're walking from here," he said. They were surrounded on three sides by trees, and above by a dense canopy that scarcely allowed the tiniest ray of sunlight to filter through. The underbrush, too, was thick; fat ferns obscured any path that might once have been, and bushes – young trees, really - stood between them and any possible passage. They climbed out of the car and while Aeneas checked their gear, Remus set out in search of a path.

After a few minutes, Remus hollered. Aeneas grabbed his pack and jogged over.

"I've found the trail," he said. He indicated a fading strip of white paint on the trunk of one of the trees. "We just have to follow these."

"Right." Aeneas swatted at a mosquito that was snacking on his arm. "Well, grab your shit and let's go." Remus ambled back to the car. Before long, they were whacking their way through the forest, following the few dull trail markers.

"Do you reckon it's far to the cabin?" Remus asked.

"You're like a child: 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet?' Don't you know how far it is?"

"No."

"You mean to say you've never been there before?" Aeneas was incredulous.

"Nah. It belongs to a friend of my aunt. I've only heard tell of it up till now."

"Well, I'd wager it'll take us at least two days, at this rate," Aeneas said as he pulled himself up over a fallen tree. "Three if the light fails."

"I thought you were a boy scout," Remus said. "A little darkness shouldn't slow you down." Aeneas laughed.

It did not, in fact, take them two days to reach the seaside cabin. All told, it took them about fifteen minutes. They arrived bug-bitten and scratched from the brambles that had overrun the trail, but otherwise in good health, and neither could deny that the short hike had been pleasant. Remus caught sight of the small cottage first. It sat perched almost at the cliff's edge and, in the salt air, almost all of the paint had been eaten away. The chimney leaned at a precarious angle, the front stoop was crumbling, and the glass in the windows looked as though it had not been cleaned in decades. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Whoa," he said. "Dr. Potter said it needed a little work, but I didn't realise he meant that much work!"

Aeneas squinted at it through the trees. "Jesus Christ. It's a crumbling ruin. Even down home, that thing would've been condemned. Didn't you say it was a cabin?"  
"That's what he told me," Remus said. He squinted at the structure, then seemed to make up his mind. "Well, no point in turning back now. We might as well see what it's like inside."

The interior of the shack was not much nicer than the face it showed the world. It was draughty, the paint was peeling, the floor was grey with dirt, and Remus swore that, looking up, he could see the sun leaking in through the roof. There was not a functional light in the building. Still, the disappointment of the poor accommodations could not last long with the glistening ocean winking at them through the trees. After setting down their belongings in the bedroom, Remus and Aeneas pulled on their swimsuits and dashed outside. They ran down the stairs over the cliff to the rough beach below. The tide was low, but not quite out and a cool breeze ruffled their hair as they raced each other toward the roaring surf. On the beach, the sharp rocks tore at the soles of their feet where the water had not worn them to a smooth finish. The sun on the water was blinding and Remus had to squint to see where he was going. Aeneas dashed straight into the water, then dove when the drag became too much. He surfaced a few seconds later.

"FUCK! It's cold!"

Remus didn't argue. He ran at the waves, shouted in pain and danced away when the frigid water struck his ankles, then ran at them again. Aeneas dove back underwater, swam a few quick strokes, then, emerging from the waters like some horrid sea creature, he wrapped his arms around his partner, who shrieked at the sudden cold. They tumbled into the waves and Remus was certain he would die or explode from the exquisite pain of the icy August Atlantic that enveloped him. He didn't even have time to think about the dozens of red jellyfish that must be circling around them, waiting to sting. As they struggled to find their footing on the rocky bottom, he clung to Aeneas.

Sputtering, Remus said, "What did you do that for?" He tipped Aeneas back into the water where they churned about some more. When they were moving, Remus decided, the water didn't feel quite so bad, and though Aeneas's skin felt like a clammy touch of death, he was delighted to feel so much of it so close to him. When his T-shirt rose up in the water, revealing the latticework of scars that tore across his torso, he did not even think to try to cover them. Aeneas, too, was scarred, but he was brazen about it; he claimed that it was from a four-wheeler accident he had suffered as a teenager. It was easy to trust Aeneas. Under the waves, their touches were never sexual – it was too cold for that – but Remus was so happy not to be alone that he leaned into every touch.

When they emerged from the water, they sat side by side on the beach, shivering. It seemed the sun could not warm them fast enough. Aeneas buried his hands in the hot gravel, savouring the sharp heat. Remus rested his head on his shoulder.

"Brr…" he shuddered."Is it always so bloody frigid?"

"Yes."

"Do you always jump in that quickly?'

"If I took my time like you do, b'y, I'd never get in," Aeneas said. "'sides, I find the cold-"

"Stultifying?" Remus supplied. "Penetrating? Excruciating? Miserable? Siberian?"

"Invigorating. Yeah, that's right. I find it invigorating."

Remus appeared to contemplate this. After a moment had passed, Aeneas gave him a playful shove; he fell onto his back, pulling Aeneas after him. Aeneas grinned wickedly, and then licked his nose. Remus giggled.

"How do I taste?"

"Salty."

Remus pushed himself up and kissed his lips. "Mm," he said.

"How do I taste?"

"I can't tell you that without sounding like a total sap."

"You are a total sap."

Remus would have replied, but Aeneas was sucking on his neck in a way that made speech, or really, any coherent thought completely impossible. What he said sounded more like, "Unnnggghhhhh…" What he wanted to say was, "You taste like the wind in January, rustling uncompromising through the trees; you taste like freedom and arrogance and beauty. You taste like everything I'm not, like everything I can't be, like everything I wish I were. You taste like something bigger than me, something frightening, but beautiful," but the poetry died before ever making it to the surface.

That evening, Remus and Aeneas sat by the edge of the cliff and watched the sun sink lower and lower over the Bay of Fundy. Waves rolled gently into shore, crashing on the rocks below as the stars rose overhead in the azure and slowly spread as far as the horizon. They sat on an old, threadbare blanket that Aeneas had found while rummaging around in the bedroom. It smelled heavily of mothballs and mildew, but it was soft and worn comfortable. A strong wind blew in from sea and a thin veil of clouds occasionally obscured the stars. Because it was a cool night, the two men snuggled close together in their jackets.

"I used to love star-gazing when I was younger," Remus said. "At Hogwarts – my school – there was a tower just for astronomy. Sirius and I –," he paused, "—people used to sneak up there to snog, once all of the prefects were in bed, but Sirius and I, we just liked to go up there to watch the stars."

Aeneas laughed. He rolled over on his side and stretched before turning to face Remus and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His long fingers curled round his cheek, framing his face in a charming sort of way. "Did you really?"

"Maybe," Remus said, and he laughed too. Aeneas leaned in closer and blew his fringe from his eyes, and Remus closed them when Aeneas kissed him on the forehead. Aeneas moved over to nip his earlobe, then began to work his way down his neck with his tongue, pausing to linger over the smooth skin of his collarbone before floating upward to meet his lips with his own. Aeneas tasted of the sweet smoke of tobacco, of hot chocolate, and of a strange flavour all his own. His tongue was like velvet, intertwining with Remus's own, drawing slowly and smoothly across his lips before dipping in to flick and dance, sending shivers down Remus's spine. Remus twined his hands through Aeneas' short black hair and tugged gently and possessively at his lip ring, savouring the sweet strangeness of the feeling of the metal against his lips. He breathed in Aeneas' breath, swallowed his moan, and it was as though they were one body, separated only by skin and clothes. Aeneas slipped a finger into the waistband of Remus's trousers and began to untuck his shirt. He struggled with the stubborn fabric, that strange enemy separating him from the imagined softness of the other's skin. Remus tensed. His fingers stalled in their dance across the back of Aeneas's neck; he turned abruptly from the kiss.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to feel you against me," Aeneas breathed, his voice husky.

Remus sat up. "I thought I told you I'm not ready for that yet." He tucked his shirttail back in. Aeneas withdrew his hands quickly and sat up next to him.

"Not ready for what, Remus?" he asked. Aeneas answered his own question: "Not ready for me to see you without a shirt on? Not ready for me to touch you? Fuck! Everyone at school and everyone at your place; your aunt, and all the lodgers think we're buggering each other senseless on a regular basis and I have yet to even look at you without your clothes. When are you going to be ready? When will I be able to honestly say that you are my lover?"  
"I am your lover," Remus said. "I'm just… not ready to be touched like that. Not yet." He paused. "Buggering each other senseless? I hope that I've been more discreet than that."

"Discreet? Discreet? Ashamed is more like it!" Aeneas said. "You're ashamed to be with me. Have you even told your aunt about us?'

"She knows."

"But did you tell her? No? No? You're ashamed, Remus Lupin. I thought that you were ashamed of me, but now I don't know. I don't know. What are you ashamed of, Remus?"

Aeneas, uplifted by the relief of having finally said what had been on his mind for so long, was surprised to find himself on his feet. He sat back down in a hurry.

"You wouldn't understand," Remus muttered. He picked at his cuticles absently.

"I wouldn't understand?" Aeneas repeated. "I wouldn't understand? What wouldn't I fucking understand, Remus? Why don't you try me? Is this one of those, 'I'm a wizard and you're just a lowly Muggle' things? Because you know, I suspended disbelief, as they say, Remus Lupin, long before I ever met you. I know a whole lot more about magic than you give me credit for. Hell, I probably know more about you than you give me credit for."

Remus stared at the waves. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of his chest as the sound of his breathing was lost in the waves.

"Are you impotent?" Remus shook his head. "Deformed? Female?" Remus wrapped his arms tighter around his knees and shook his head again. Growing serious again, Aeneas asked, "Do you have AIDS?"

"No," said Remus. His voice was hoarse.

"Go on."

"You really want me to tell you?" Remus said. Aeneas looked at him. "I can't ask you to promise, but I hope that you won't think any less of me for what I am about to tell you. It's not easy…"

Aeneas reached over and took his hand. "Just tell me, whatever it is. I'll try my best."

"I am a werewolf." Remus did not look at Aeneas when he said it, but continued to look out into the waves.

"That's it?" Aeneas threw his head back and laughed. "You're a werewolf. Our relationship has been in limbo for all this time because you are a werewolf."

Remus slammed his hands down on the sand. "Fuck you," he said. He got to his feet and stalked up the beach. He did not look back.

Aeneas sat frozen on the beach for a second, mouth agape. Something had gone terribly wrong. He had to catch up to Remus, to explain, and fast. Aeneas headed first up to the cottage, hoping that Remus had decided to hide himself away in the shadows where the moonbeams did not reach, but after pulling a flashlight out of his pack and checking every corner, he found that nothing in the house had been disturbed. He stopped to think what he would have done under similar circumstances and decided that his best bet was to head up toward the road, following the overgrown path in the woods, to see if Remus had decided to hitchhike back into town. He could not stick around and wait, he decided; it made his stomach turn, to think that he had upset Remus so badly. He did not want to give him time to get farther away. He wanted to explain himself. He hoped that Remus had at least left him the car. Remus couldn't drive. He probably had left it. But there might be magical method of travel that could have taken him away from that uncomfortable situation on the coast much faster than any Muggle transportation.

The T-bird was still there. Aeneas was glad of that, at least. He decided that he would find Remus more quickly if he drove; the headlights would illuminate the road, and he could travel more quickly. He turned it around in the small clearing and slowly, like a sad retracing of his steps of that afternoon, rumbled back toward the main road.

A long time had passed since the highway was a main road; on the best of days, traffic was rare, but now, it was deserted. Aeneas drove slowly along, peering into the woods by the shoulder. He drove all the way into town and found that deserted as well. Finally, he pulled into an Irving station and poured himself a large coffee.

"You travelling far?" asked the man at the counter. He was very pretty, with red hair and tell-tale scars on his wrists

"Nah," Aeneas said. "Satisfying a midnight craving. Forgot to pack filters when we left home. Slow night?"

"Always is," the man replied. Aeneas tried to pay for his coffee, but the man refused. "No one'll know," he said. "Name's Vaughn, by the way. Don't usually get much business in here till morning. You around here a lot?"

"Nah," Aeneas said. "It's my first visit. Say, have you seen a man here about this tall," he waved his hand in the air, "long hair, uh, black pants, black sweater, lookin' kinda pissed off maybe?"

"Hm. Lover's quarrel?" he winked at Aeneas. Aeneas glared.

"Whoa, whoa, I didn't mean anything by that. Yeah, I seen him. Bought a pack of smokes and a Dairy Milk and asked for directions to Clements Beach. You lookin' for him?"

"How do I get there?" Aeneas poured a paper-cup of hot chocolate from the thermos by the counter and tossed a couple of Fruit and Nut bars next to his coffee. He grabbed a map from the rack and said, "Show me." Vaughn looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He explained the route, pausing to describe countless landmarks and tourist attractions. Aeneas cut him off:

"I think I can figure it out from here," he said. Without waiting for a bag, he grabbed his things and bolted for the door.

"You forgot to pay for those, bub," Vaughn said. Aeneas tossed a tenner on the counter.

"Keep the change," he said, and headed out into the night.

Aeneas found Remus, finally, asleep on the beach in the lee of a large seaweed-covered rock. He stopped, mid-step, and watched him sleep for a few minutes, watched the way his chest rose and fell with peaceful breaths as he slept. He was not unaffected by the beauty of his partner, who always woke before him and who seemed always to fall asleep long after he was lost to his own dreams, who never allowed himself to be so unguarded and vulnerable as he seemed to be there, on beach. Some strange, new feeling washed over him like a wave, and when it broke, he found himself swallowing back sudden tears. Aeneas crept closer and got down on his knees. He put his hand on Remus' shoulder and softly whispered his name. There was a pause, and then.

"What? You've come for more comedy?"

"I wanted to apologise. I shouldn't have laughed." Aeneas lifted his hand to stroke Remus' hair. Remus swatted it away aggressively, and did not turn around.

"No," he said, "You shouldn't have." Aeneas settled back on his heels and played idly with the cuffs of his shirt.

"I just…"

"You just what?" Remus interrupted. When Aeneas didn't finish his sentence, he rolled over onto his back, shielding his eyes from the fire of the setting sun with his arm and squinted at him. His face was muddy with beach-sand and his eyes were bloodshot from crying. His hair was matted and bits of seaweed and dead leaves stuck out of it at odd angles. He looked a mess. Aeneas swallowed and reached into his back pocket. Remus waited, confused, as he flipped open his wallet.

"What, you're going to pay me to pretend I never met you, is that it?" Remus asked. It was irrational, he knew, but stranger offers had been made him in the past.

Aeneas pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Remus between two fingers. There was no mistaking it. It was a werewolf registry card.

Several minutes passed in silence, then Remus said, "I think I'm the one who owes you an apology."

"Don't," Aeneas said, "Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have pushed you. I'm sorry."

"I reacted badly," Remus replied. "I suspect I've been behaving badly for quite some time. I know it's no excuse, but I've had a bit of a rough year and a half. Sometimes I forget that other people have been through rough times as well. I'm sorry."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

"No. That is, I don't know if I can. I can't say – I can't say that I really remember much."

Aeneas was looking deep into his eyes. "Can you try?" he asked. "I really want to know."

Remus buried his head in his hands, and took a deep breath. He paused, then shook his head. "I don't know if I can do this without being horribly trite," he said. "Do you remember when we first met, at the church? I mistook you for someone else?"

"Yes. Sirius Black. You've mentioned him a few times. Who was he?"

"It doesn't matter," Remus said. "He's dead."

There was a pause. Aeneas contemplated his hands in silence, then said, "I'm really sorry to hear."

"Well, not really dead, but – "

"What do you mean?"

" – as good as dead. He's in prison, wizard prison, for life."

"If you don't mind my asking, what for?"

"They put him in prison for – " Remus took a breath.

"Go on."  
"He killed his best friend. My best friend. He was my best friend. He killed – "

"Oh."

"My aunt told me that morning – the morning after it happened – November – and after that, everything goes blurry. That part – that part is clear and never far from me. It doesn't fade. It's loud like my head is screaming, my ears are screaming, I'm screaming, he's a murderer, he's a murderer and he's dead now. It's like – everything's red – like, you know one of those modern paintings where everything is streaks of red, like flames, everything in my head was on fire, and there are faces in the flames and they're screaming as well. And my chest was tight – for a whole year – heavy, like something heavy was sitting on me and wouldn't get up. And those faces, screaming and crying, and sometimes pleading with me, month after month. I didn't know how he was, but I wondered. Despite everything, I wondered. There was no way of finding out. And then one day, he started appearing in the flames as well. I don't know how he was there he wasn't dead, but as good as. And he said, over and over again, "I didn't do it, I didn't do it." But he had. I knew he had. I know he had. They were dead and they weren't coming back. Then after a while, six months maybe, he was there, even when I was awake. He was there in this red fog that seemed to be enveloping my life and then I knew I was going mad. I thought they would send me away too – for sure – but they didn't. So I can't really tell you what happened that year. And that Christmas eve – a year after it happened – when I saw you in the church, I thought you were him, for real, but you weren't. You were you. And after that, slowly, I didn't see him anymore. Maybe that sounds foolish, but –"

"Do you miss him?"

"Honestly? Yes. I wish I didn't."

Aeneas reached out, and slipped his hand into Remus's. Remus squeezed it. Together, they looked out over the water.

"Do you really think he did it?"

"I don't know. Probably. They're not usually wrong with that sort of thing. And there was so much evidence. I didn't think he – I didn't think he had it in him. To kill anyone. To kill James. He was one of the best people I knew. Sirius. James. Both. I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Aeneas said again.

"Thank you. Thank you for being so patient with me."

Aeneas gave him a weak smile. "I haven't, really. But I can try."

Remus leaned over and kissed his neck. "Baby steps," he whispered. "We can do this. We can make it work. But it will take baby steps." Aeneas ran his hands through his hair.

"I can take baby steps. For you. With you. I love you, you know, you crazy wolf."

"If you learn to walk with me, I bet I could learn to waltz," Remus said, and they both laughed. All of a sudden quiet again, he whispered, "I love you too."

The tide was rising and the water was beginning to tickle at their toes. In the moonlight, it churned black and vast and unforgiving. Remus thought briefly of Sirius alone in Azkaban, then banished that thought from his mind. A wave splashed over them, soaking them to the skin; the darkness was getting too close. "We should head back to the cabin," Remus said. He got to his feet. Aeneas followed and they raced one another up the beach. Their laughter lit the way as they dashed, together, to the car. It might be a while before we touch one another's bodies, Aeneas thought, but at least now we're honest. At least now, alone together, we can touch one another's minds.


End file.
